


Nobody Likes Diet Dr. Pepper

by JackHawksmoor



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackHawksmoor/pseuds/JackHawksmoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the subway trauma, Carlos does some comforting. Also sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Likes Diet Dr. Pepper

Cecil leaned away from the mic, put the tape in that would entertain his Listeners for the next six hours or so, and stared at the wall humming to himself, possibly for long as 30 minutes. It was still such a wonderful novelty, desiring to make a particular sound and then hearing it spill from his mouth. As opposed to thousands of years worth of ceaseless incomprehensible screaming or the vast groans of millions of lives passing through one's mind in an unending stream that could not be stopped. It was so simple and refreshing.

 

It reminded Cecil that he'd rather like a Coke. With ice, if intern Dylan had actually refilled the ice cube trays before getting his soul devoured. Though Cecil was betting he hadn't, even though Cecil had specifically put up a note in the break room. Not that Cecil would ever think ill of the dead, or possibly merely corporeally destroyed, particularly when simply opening the refrigerator let loose a gorgeous caress of cool air across Cecil's skin that was-

 

There were no Cokes in the refrigerator. Only two Snapples and a Diet Dr. Pepper.

 

“Oh come on, Dylan,” Cecil said disgustedly, shaking his head.

 

He grabbed a Snapple, then almost tripped over the tasteful monument to Intern Maria, thoroughly distracted by how smooth and wet and dark the bottle felt against his skin. The remains of the box of doughnuts that Intern Gabriel had left resting on it just that morning tottered dangerously. The box was off balance now, given that the only thing left inside were two lone horseradish e-coli jelly doughnuts. Cecil caught the box, and after a few moments of quiet contemplation and fear, took one of the remaining doughnuts.

 

He stopped in the doorway and stared down at the condensation beading on his bottle of Snapple. His fingers were wet, and that seemed wondrous and strange. Cecil opened it, and wasn't it lovely the way he had to work at the lid just a bit? He looked underneath the cap for the usual clever fact or slogan.

 

‘Nobody Likes Diet Dr. Pepper.'

 

“Oh, I'll save that one,” Cecil murmured to himself, and to Intern Maria’s monument, and to the beautiful (and quite moving) Wall of Interns Memorial Wall for all the interns who had not technically saved Night Vale singlehandedly and rated their own personal monuments in the break room. If Cecil believed in something as foolishly hopeless as luck, he might believe the cap was lucky. But, he did not. He was actually thinking about starting a collection. He _was_ aware that the cap believed itself to be lucky, but he wasn't going to be a jerk about it and burst its bubble or anything.

 

Station Management had started a low rumble. Cecil had gotten a truly frightful letter last week about overtime, so after vomiting up the doughnut he managed to locate his car keys and left his booth. Something had eaten his lunch (and his thermos) leaving only a lump of twisted plastic behind, so he walked towards the front doors with nothing but the deep sense of wellbeing and freedom that the evening's eldritch horror had left him with. And some minor intestinal distress. And a slightly delusional bottle cap.

 

He could not have hoped for, was not expecting, Carlos to push his way through the doors with that particular expression of urgency on his beautiful, perfectly proportioned face that always meant some great danger was about to befall their town.

 

Cecil stopped dead at the sight of him, and nearly fell entirely to pieces. It was only his utter professionalism as a broadcaster that kept him on his feet. It had been in the most literal sense of the word, eons, since Cecil had seen Carlos' face. And that face was every bit as perfect and glorious and beautiful and good as Cecil remembered it. His square jaw and his perfect teeth and the staggering luxurious glory of his hair and the gleaming white kind perfection of his soul were so clear that if Cecil hadn't loved him already he would have fallen in love with him again immediately.

 

Cecil dropped his keys.

 

“Cecil!” Carlos, said, crowding in close. With that wonderful, honeyed voice. “I heard the show.”

 

_He heard the show!_

 

“Oh?” Carlos almost never listened to the show, he said it was-

 

“Yes! I got here as fast as I could. What were you thinking, taking the subway? That was insanely dangerous.”

 

“I am a journalist,” Cecil replied, taken aback. “And Intern Dylan had been consumed, sooo...” Cecil shrugged.

 

Carlos stared at him, and suddenly looked softer. “Are you all right?”

 

Cecil's keys were still on the floor. He was considering joining them. This was possibly the best day of his life. He would take a hundred subway rides for this.

 

“You were- you were worried about me?” he asked.

 

Carlos frowned at him and this was incredible-amazing-Cecil couldn't believe- Carlos' urgently concerned expression had been for Cecil, because of _Cecil_.

 

“Of course,” Carlos said, and then leaned close and peered at Cecil's eyes. “Are you feeling okay, Cecil? You sounded strange after the weather.”

 

“Well,” Cecil began, meaning to explain about the beauty of the gleaming glass wall beyond his microphone and the feeling of cold refrigerated air against his skin but then Carlos took his chin in his hand and lifted his head up, tilting it to get a better look into Cecil's eyes, and Cecil ended that sentence with a squeak.

 

“I should do some tests,” Carlos muttered. Then he froze, and dropped Cecil's chin, much to Cecil's disappointment. Carlos cleared his throat, almost as if he was embarrassed about something. “That is, if you don't mind.”

 

Tests. Carlos wanted to do Science with Cecil.

 

“No, I don’t mind,” Cecil said, entirely too loud, and then cringed slightly. He cleared his throat and then continued in a voice that was probably far too eager. “That sounds wonderful.” He reached down to retrieve his keys, flustered, but they didn’t seem to want to separate themselves from the carpeting, which had a beautiful abstract pattern on it vaguely reminiscent of arterial spray.

 

Carlos was tugging the keys out of Cecil’s hand, pulling him up and away from a gorgeous spatter of dried brownish-red berber in an arcing fan practically right beneath Cecil’s shoes.

 

There was light flashing in Cecil’s eyes, from the small pink flashlight Carlos kept on his keychain. Carlos leaned close, gloriously close, peering at Cecil’s eyes as if Cecil was fascinating and important. A year ago Cecil would have done a solid hour of radio time and floated on the endorphins for a week to have Carlos this close and looking so earnestly at him. 

 

Then Carlos paused, a cautious look on his face that was quite charming, and for some reason flashed the light at Cecil’s forehead. It was too, too bright and flickered for a moment into infrared. Cecil made a low noise and flinched away.

 

Carlos was right there, tutting and apologetic. He herded Cecil gently out through the doors by the arm as if this were another date.

 

Cecil hadn’t filed the paperwork for them to have a sudden impromptu post-crisis date, but he couldn’t think of anyone he would rather spend the evening with than Carlos, whether or not he could technically call it a date when he was gushing tomorrow morning to his Listeners about the fact that Carlos had definitely put his arm around Cecil’s back as they stepped out into the parking lot.

 

The wind shifted, bringing a heady smell of paint thinner and a faint sizzling noise, like the sound of rustling wings, from the dark and cheerfully taped-across subway entrance across the street. Cecil turned his head, something in the smell or the sound scraping at the back of his mind. There was a sign in front of the entrance, in bright, easy to read text. ‘Closed for Construction’ ‘Sorry for the Inconvenience’ ‘Continue your diminished existence until the glory fades from your mind’.

 

“Hmm,” Cecil said, nodding thoughtfully, and realized he’d stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot. He was actually rather close to Carlos’ attractive and well-kept Honda. In fact, as Cecil stood there, Carlos stepped over to the passenger side door and opened it, looking pointedly back at Cecil.

 

“Oh,” Cecil realized, with a tingle of pleasure. Carlos wanted to drive him. It was silly to be pleased by that. Or disappointed that Cecil had to say no. “But my car is here,” Cecil explained. “I can’t leave it in a city parking lot after working hours without special notice.”

 

Carlos let out an exasperated breath, and Cecil winced.

 

Way to ruin a moment, he thought forlornly.

 

He heard a chirping, clicking sound. Not from the subway, from somewhere behind them. Crickets, maybe. Or lurking evil forces with tiny, scratchy, squeaky voices. Either way, something about the sound was unsettling. It seemed to affect Cecil’s knees the most. He felt rather pleasantly wobbly.

 

Carlos was leaning close and there was a breath of sweetness on Cecil’s face. Carlos had been chewing his lavender chewing gum.

 

He wasn’t chewing it now. But he had been.

 

“Cecil, there is no way I’m letting you drive like this,” Carlos said. “Come here.” That was right, Carlos had taken his keys. In a spray of carpeted berber blood.

 

Cecil was distracted then, because for a heavenly moment he actually had his face sort of shmushed up against Carlos’ perfect, perfect neck. Carlos slid an arm underneath Cecil’s and tried to lead him towards his gleaming and impeccably maintained car but hadn’t counted on Cecil’s wobbly knees and ended up with an armful of him.

 

_How embarrassing!_

 

Carlos scooped Cecil close and deposited him in the passenger seat of Carlos’ tastefully sporty yet environmentally conscious coupe with a matter-of-factness that was breathtaking. The car, despite its outer perfection, was rather shockingly in need of a detailing inside. If Cecil’s brain had been functioning that would have bothered him. However, Cecil now had intimate knowledge of the feel and scent of the delicate curls of hair on Carlos the Scientist’s neck and so he really could not manage to do much other than make a faint, high-pitched noise in the back of his throat. Carlos was much stronger than he looked.

 

Carlos ducked his head down so Cecil could see his face and smiled, even rows of perfect white teeth flashing. “All set.”

 

Devastating. Cecil’s heart was practically climbing out of his chest in protest when he had to speak up and wipe it away. “I can’t. The secret police are very strict about this sort of thing.”

 

Carlos’ smile faded away, and Cecil wanted to chase after it. He straightened, looking out across the parking lot for a moment, and then for some reason patted at his back pocket as if searching for his wallet.

 

Miserably, Cecil started to climb out of the car. _Were those candy wrappers in the footwell? That was just-_ Carlos’ hand came down gently on his shoulder.

 

“Hang on,” he said. “I can fix this.” Carlos pulled his wallet out of his back pocket for some reason. He glanced casually up at the sky. “Something,” he said clearly.

 

Cecil stiffened in horror. “Oh Carlos, no,” he hissed.

 

A shadow that had possibly not ever really been a shadow unfolded itself from where it had been resting against one of the lights illuminating the parking lot and approached them in a mostly humanoid manner. The soothing, everyday sound of overhead helicopters turned terrifying and close.

 

Cecil rested his head against the dashboard and thought with somewhat resigned terror that at least he would be going to re-education with Carlos, and he’d been meaning to catch up on Game of Thrones anyway.

“Mr. Scientist, this is a bit irregular.” The voice was muffled through the leather baklava.

 

A spotlight from the helicopter that was obviously circling overhead opened up around the car, and Cecil lost the thread of the conversation for a moment in stunned ecstasy. There was a white-gold circle of brilliance around the car, the hood was gleaming, the asphalt was sparkling, it was magnificent.

 

Cecil tried to get up, to scramble out of the car and get down so he could look at the pavement closer, run his hands over it, but someone was pushing him back. Quite a few hands.

 

“-the subway, its done something to him, you see?” Carlos sounded worried.

 

“Yes, they’re all like that,” the sheriff’s secret police officer said, casually. She leaned in the car. “Mr. Palmer, I can write you up a 3-19 for the car, but just for this evening. If you accept the 3-19 and fail to move it from the lot tomorrow you’ll forfeit a kidney, are we clear?”

 

Carlos was looking alarmed, but Cecil smiled broadly. “Thank you officer,” he said dreamily. It was a lizard-creature, Cecil was certain of it. They were just so wonderfully spatially aware and sensible, he should do a segment on his program about the type of species best suited to dealing with implants or the sudden void-acquired telepathy one needed in order to function as a member of the sheriff's secret police. He blinked hard and saw the officer’s bright yellow eyes.

 

“Now, none of that,” she said sternly, but was smiling a little, all those rows of sharp teeth under the baklava, Cecil could see. She tapped him once on the forehead with a sharply taloned finger, just at his hairline.

 

It gave him a hideous shivery sensation, and worse than that, Cecil felt mortified. Of course no one should be able to see talons or anything else under the uniform. He shut his eyes tight. Tight.

 

He heard papers rustling. The officer mentioned, casually, that some of the others that had emerged from the subway had improved after sleep. Carlos’ voice did a poor job of hiding his curiosity and enthusiasm for knowing more about the subject. Cecil knew better-the secret police were not exactly in the business of being forthcoming.

 

A moment later, he smelled paper in his face, and risked opening his eyes. The officer held out her standard-issue puncture, gleaming and needle sharp, the base curled all around with runes. She waggled it for emphasis, and Cecil obligingly poked his thumb on it. The officer squeezed the meaty flesh around the little wound, chanting pleasantly under her breath, and then pressed Cecil’s thumb to the bottom of the form 3-19. There was a faint sizzling, and the letters on the form glowed indigo for a moment. Carlos was beginning to look alarmed for some reason.

 

“Do you need the carbons for your records?” the officer said, flipping the paper up and pausing before ripping.

 

Cecil paused, then replied with regret, “I’d better.”

 

The officer flinched slightly, and Cecil had just enough time to put his hands over his ears as she ripped the carbon copy off. The paper screamed in outrage and pained betrayal, dripping blood. Carlos leaned close in curiosity as the officer handed the bleeding document over.

 

“Thanks,” Cecil said, marveling at the deep red color smeared on his palms. “I’ve already been in hot water with Station Management once this month.”

 

“Mmm,” The officer replied in a businesslike manner, tucking the form away. “I’m afraid, Mr. Scientist, this doesn’t address your misuse of our citizen alert system.”

 

Cecil winced. The officer sniffed regretfully. Carlos muttered something completely irrelevant about last names and job titles.

 

“Now I understand as an outsider you may not have grown up with the proper respect for constant citizen surveillance that one would expect, but that’s what re-education is for.”

 

Oh, officer, Cecil thought in dismay.

 

The officer shot Cecil a stern look. Chastened, Cecil slumped in his seat and concentrated on Not Thinking. Not about how beloved Carlos was by the community. Or how often and how brilliantly Carlos proved his value and the value of science to the town by cleverly solving deadly problems that threatened all their lives.

 

A cleverness which Carlos proved, by pulling a yellow card out of his wallet and handing it to the officer.

 

Cecil gaped as the officer gave him a friendly handshake and helpfully shut Cecil’s door, even going so far as to give Carlos a hearty pat on the back before melting back into the empty parking lot as if it had never been there. The beautiful white spotlight pulled up and away as the helicopter vanished off into the void.

 

Carlos slid in the car beside him with a satisfied sigh, like a man tossing in the last shovelful of dirt into a shallow grave he’d had to dig himself. A tedious job well and finally over.

 

“You gave that officer a yellow card,” Cecil said, sounding a little strangled. The color had been unmistakable. And the card was even laminated, that was a dead giveaway.

 

Carlos raised his eyebrows a little, and smiled. He looked suspiciously pleased with himself.

 

Cecil made a small, choked noise. A yellow card had to be given by the city council directly. For services above and beyond, in the best interests of Night Vale and the Night Vale community. A pass against future offences for services rendered. They were worth their weight in uneaten Big Ricos pizza slices.

 

“Carlos,” he began, trying not to hyperventilate, “I do not know if you realize how important it is not to waste a card that can get you out of almost anything.” He paused, then muttered, “or how much it’s worth.”

 

Carlos pulled the car out of the parking lot, still smiling to himself as if he had some little secret. It was sweet to look at. “Cecil, just what do you think I do in this town?” he sounded amused.

 

Cecil frowned.

 

Carlos leaned toward him, conspiratorially. “I’ve got like five of them in my wallet right now. I got one just last week for the mole-people thing.”

 

Cecil blinked several times rapidly. “...Oh,” he said finally.

 

Carlos had a concerned look on his face again. “Would you like one?” he asked, which was quite generous of him in theory, but Cecil didn’t think he really grasped the value of what he had.

 

“I believe the going rate of exchange,” Cecil said carefully “is three whole loaves of wheat bread to one yellow card on the black market.” Cecil rested his head against the window absently. It felt cool against his face. “Not that I would have any need to know,” he added hastily, “but you know, being a journalist, you find stuff out.”

 

Carlos ‘hmm’ed thoughtfully. Cecil suspected, perhaps uncharitably, it was due to the fact that Carlos did not entirely believe him. It wasn’t entirely true, but that was beside the point.

 

If Cecil wanted to make a point, he would comment on the dead, curled up fly resting on Carlos’ dashboard, and how interior detailing was only an extra 3 dollars at Big Earl’s Car Wash, $2.50 with a coupon. The tiny dead eyes on the fly were still jeweled and dazzling and completely gross. This was particularily glaring given that the fly's final resting place was in such an otherwise beautiful car.

 

The window jerked against his cheek, and he startled. Carlos swung the door open, looking concerned.

 

“Oh,” Cecil said, fumbling with his seatbelt. “We’re here.”

 

“Uh-huh,” he said, and pulled Cecil to his feet. He was warm and he didn’t seem to mind at all when Cecil tripped into him going up the front steps. Cecil’s knees still weren’t behaving themselves- the trip in the car hadn’t done them any good at all.

 

Carlos walked him inside and sat him down in an extremely comfortable chair. The cushions smelled faintly of burnt chemicals and Carlos’ hair. Cecil pressed his face against them and breathed, and breathed.

 

“Cecil,” a voice said, after some time. “Cecil I need to get the leads attached to you for the EEG, okay? I’m going to move your head.”

 

“Hmm,” he said, curling away from sound and thought and even the soft touch of a hand against Cecil’s face.

 

There was a heavy knitted afgan tucked carefully over his legs. It was possibly the most atrocious shade of violent pink he had ever seen in his life. Cecil tried to recoil from it and froze.

 

There was something very strange attached to his skull. Long years living in Night Vale gave him good instincts with sudden new appendages. Slowly, carefully, he reached up and gently felt at his head. His fingers encountered wires and a lot of distressingly-textured glop. Cecil made a high pitched sound of disgust.

 

“It’s all right, your brain looks normal,” came Carlos’ voice from behind him.

 

Of course his brain was normal. Why wouldn’t his brain be normal? Silently, in a mixture of distress and accusation, Cecil held out a sticky, goo-covered hand.

 

“Oh!” Carlos said. “Let me get those leads off you.”

 

“Yes,” Cecil had to stop and clear his throat, it was rough and dry. “Yes lets do that.”

 

Carlos held out a glass of water in front of Cecil’s face. A curlicue straw bounced cheerfully against the lip of the cup. Cecil flicked his eyes up, and Carlos gave him a gentle, encouraging expression.

 

Feeling a bit bashful, Cecil took the glass and sipped at the straw. The water tasted fabulous. He drank almost the whole glass, slurping happily while Carlos pulled things away from his skull. They came free from him with an oddly organic feel, trailing wetness but without pain.

 

“Far be it from me to question science,” Cecil muttered, “but couldn’t science have progressed with something a little less messy?”

 

There was a pause.

 

“You weren't acting like yourself,” Carlos said, his voice softer than it had been, more serious. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

 

Cecil swallowed, feeling warm all over. “Okay,” he said. Having Carlos this close and concerned and so caring about him was just about the most lovely thing in the world. But- “why wouldn’t I be all right?”

 

Carlos stepped around until Cecil could see his face.

 

“Don’t you remember?” he asked. “You took the subway-”

 

Ten hundred thousand million lives in the screaming stretching brilliant darkness-

 

“Oh,” Cecil breathed. He was grabbing at Carlos’ shirtsleeves rather hard. “You came and got me,” he realized, his heart lifting.

 

Carlos shrugged, looking a trifle embarrassed. Then he leaned forward and kissed Cecil very carefully, right between the eyes.

 

Oh

 

It was shivery and delicious and Cecil could feel the affection, could feel it as if the emotion had been stamped right through him, stretching its way through angled dimensions and painting itself all over him.

 

“You can use my shower, get the goop out of your hair,” Carlos said, as if nothing had happened.

 

“Thank you,” Cecil said quietly. He wasn’t speaking about the shower.

 

Carlos smiled at him, perfect teeth flashing white and even.

 

Cecil pushed aside the hideous (but admittedly very comfortable) afghan, and stood up. He felt okay. A little hollow- but then, who didn’t. Life was, after all, just a lonely soul’s desperate search for fulfillment in minutiae and distraction.

 

“Oh, are you infected?” Cecil said, noticing for the first time that the mirrors and reflective surfaces were covered or blacked out. There had been reports of mirror infestations on the outskirts of town, but he hadn’t heard of anything large within city limits yet.

 

“No, no, that’s just a precaution,” Carlos said. “I brought in a sample from an abandoned car that people were complaining about, I’m running some tests. Just be careful and don’t scratch off any of the blacking I put up, I don’t want it to move into the building.”

 

“No! Of course not.”

 

Cecil had been to Carlos’ apartment above the lab before. He had not been through Carlos’ bedroom however, which was necessary to get to his attached bath. Carlos didn’t turn on his bedroom light, which Cecil supposed could be suspicious but was probably just embarrassment due to some underwear on the floor or something. It was still very interesting just walking through. The whole room smelled intensely of Carlos.

 

Cecil wondered-hoped-one day it would smell of both of them.

 

Carlos paused at the doorway to the bathroom. Cecil was relieved. He couldn’t tell what he looked like because all the mirrors were blacked out but he imagined it was pretty bad. He should close the door and clean himself up immediately before the image of him looking like this became irrevocably stamped onto Carlos’ brain.

 

Carlos pointed around the bathroom in seemingly random directions. “Um, soap, shampoo, towels in the closet. If you need anything else, just yell.”

 

Cecil touched the back of his head gingerly. It was a gooey mess. He hoped Carlos had been too distracted watching how Cecil’s brain worked to notice how terrible he looked while he was asleep. “Thank you,” he did not quite slam the door in Carlos’ face.

 

Cecil noticed Carlos hadn’t put any extra protections up. There was only the standard seals that came with every apartment and dwelling in Night Vale, worked into the tiles. The bathroom was a particularly vulnerable and hazardous place, and the oversight itched at the back of Cecil’s mind. It was far too tempting for unsavory and malicious spirits and people as it was. Cecil couldn’t let the opportunity to add a little extra protection for his beloved Carlos pass by.

 

Luckily, whatever he might be hiding in his bedroom, Carlos kept his bathroom spotless, and his razor blades were easy to find. Cecil made a thin slice on the back of his wrist (for devotion), and set about pressing the bright blood into the tiny cracks in the grouting around the seals.

 

Once the sigils were humming nicely, the shower really was was a glorious relief. All the angles of the place were set up perfectly- he felt as safe and cosy as he did in his own bathroom. Plus, Carlos had removed the standard shower head and replaced it with something large and gleaming and technical-looking that did a remarkable job with the available water pressure. And scrubbing his scalp clean with Carlos’ shampoo felt delicious. The scent of it was reassuring and familiar- he had pleasant memories of smelling it in Carlos’ hair any time he was lucky enough to get close.

 

He stepped out of the shower feeling clean and human again. He eyed his discarded clothing pile distastefully, hugging a fluffy powder blue towel. The clothes were dirty and sweaty and he very much did not want to put them back on. He prodded a corner of his shirt with his toe.

 

Cecil tucked the towel around his waist and poked his head hopefully out of the door. Surely Carlos could lend him something…

 

Carlos, who had been sitting on his bed, shot to his feet as Cecil opened the door as if he had been caught doing something mortally embarrassing.

 

The room, Cecil quickly noted, had every appearance of being hastily straightened up. On the nightstand directly beside where Carlos had been sitting was a lighted candle in a votive holder. Cecil blinked at it for a second. Then the scent hit his nose. Cooking beef.

 

Cecil stared at Carlos for a moment. Those were the exact same flavor of scented candles that Cecil had in his house. Carlos knew that; Carlos had been to Cecil’s place before.

 

Carlos had gone out and bought Cecil’s candles sometime after their third or fourth date, had remembered the scent of the candles Cecil had burning in his apartment the first time they’d-

 

“Oh,” Cecil said in a soft voice.

 

Carlos coughed lightly. “I thought maybe you could sleep here tonight, if you wanted. You only got about two hours in the chair.”

 

Cecil delicately adjusted his towel as he came out from the doorway and walked toward his Carlos, something spreading heat in his chest like he’d swallowed a hot coal. Or he’d gotten in the way of one of Hiram Mcdaniels angrier heads.

 

Carlos’ eyes widened and he started talking fast. “Of course, I can get you something to wear, I don’t know what I was-”

 

Cecil stopped him by stepping up within about an inch of his perfect face and kissing him senseless.

 

Carlos had come after him last night. Cecil had a nearly-clear memory of the staggering relief he’d felt when Carlos had first come through the station doors. Carlos had spent a yellow card on him, which was a little stupid but definitely romantic, and he’d bought Cecil’s candles, and lit them so his place would smell like home.

 

Carlos made a soft, surprised noise. A happy surprised noise. It tasted lovely. Happiness was almost better than quiet rage for tasting.

 

Cecil pulled back. “I haven’t filled out the paperwork for this, but we could file an EZ-309 tomorrow, we’ll have to give blood buh-”

 

Carlos kissed him enthusiastically. Cecil almost lost his towel. There was a warm moment where Cecil was running his tongue along the edge of those perfect teeth and tentatively feeling his way up underneath Carlos’ shirt with the hand that wasn’t clutching light blue terrycloth. Then Carlos broke away and quickly pulled the t-shirt in question over his head, leaving him in only a pair of pajama pants.

 

Their last-and only-encounter had involved a lot of clothing and fumbling around in the dark. It had been very exciting, but this was…much better lit, for one thing.

 

Carlos made excellent use of his gym membership. Cecil made a low noise in the back of his throat that was probably fairly embarrassing, and reached out with both hands to touch Carlos’ stomach. His gloriously well sculpted stomach. Cecil had a wild, slightly mad urge to take a bite out of it.

 

Cecil completely forgot about his towel. It pooled softly around his feet and he only noticed it when he stepped in to try and get his mouth on some of that perfection.

 

He was startled then by a hand at his hip, sliding down slowly. Cecil looked up and Carlos was staring at him with a hungry kind of awe that immediately did marvelous things for his self esteem. Carlos leaned a little closer, rubbing at Cecil’s skin with his thumbs in a way that made Cecil swallow hard. The change in angle between them was enough to brush the tip of Cecil erection against the soft cloth covering Carlos’ thigh. It sent a delicate shock up his spine, and Cecil leaned forward, pressing his lips to Carlos' collarbone. He sucked hard, and Carlos made a sharp sound and grabbed onto him, pulling him in tight. For a moment their erections were flush against one another, and Cecil  took horrible advantage and slid his hands a bit too low over the curve of Carlos’ ass and squeezed a little. Carlos leaned back a little and gave Cecil a wicked smile, white teeth flashing so attractively that for a second it almost hurt to look at him.

 

Then they both were tugging at Carlos’ pajama pants and scrambling back on the bed with a kind of desperate haste that was both awkward and extremely silly. Carlos’ pajama pants were caught on his foot, and he frowned, half on the bed, kicking out at the room to dislodge them.

 

It was ridiculous, and Cecil giggled, but Carlos’ ass was also flexing in a way that was frankly outstanding. Carlos heard him and made a face. It was adorable, and demanded Cecil grab for his shoulders and pull him down and in and kiss it right off him. Carlos nudged his way in between Cecil’s knees and let his weight settle. It pinned Cecil’s erection tightly between his stomach and Carlos’, which was amazingly sweet all on its own. But the all-over body pleasure of feeling Carlos pressed naked against him had him breaking the kiss and sighing into Carlos’ hair as he squirmed happily against the covers. He couldn’t really thrust properly, it was too dry and Carlos was too heavy, the angle wasn’t right, but he could feel Carlos’ erection pushing hot into his belly, and he could press up. As he did Carlos caught the motion with a liquid move of his body, pressing back against him, and Cecil tilted his head back, groaning. He pressed up again, wanting more, and Carlos was right there, the movement of their bodies together fluid and nearly perfect.

 

Carlos pressed his mouth to Cecil’s neck, and Cecil completely lost his head and buried both hands in the thick curling glory of Carlos’ hair.

 

“Oh,” he said, sounding nearly as overwhelmed as he felt, “Oh my.”

 

Carlos pulled back and looked down at him, looking disheveled and beautiful with his glasses knocked slightly crooked on his face. “Hang on,” he said, and leaned over, reaching for something in the drawer of his nightstand.

 

Cecil turned to look, and then smiled to himself, pleased. Carlos was so considerate.

 

While Carlos carefully warmed a portion of the lube he’d retrieved in his hands, Cecil took the opportunity to carefully remove Carlos’ glasses from his nose. Carlos’ eyes widened, and something in his expression turned gentle. Suddenly feeling as though he had done something more intimate than he’d intended, Cecil quickly set the glasses on the nightstand. It was a ridiculous notion, they were both naked and he shouldn’t feel-

 

Carlos kissed him. It was tender and gentle and when Carlos slipped a pleasantly wet hand around his erection it only made him feel more loved. Cecil made a low sound of pleasure into his mouth, and Carlos pressed his erection against Cecil’s and began touching them together, his fingers slick with thoughtfully warmed lube. Carlos threw a little bit of hip action into it, and they had to stop kissing so they could move. But when Carlos pulled his mouth away Cecil tilted his head back, keeping his mouth open. Carlos’ breath puffed hot and slightly stale across his face. They were so close it felt like Cecil was still tasting him, and he wanted that, he needed that. He was breathing in how pure this was, how rare, how much possibility there was and could be.

 

Carlos looked at his expression, made a soft sound, and came all over them both.

 

He was. So. Beautiful. Cecil was so close he almost tried to finish himself. But Carlos took a breath, looking stunned, and got a rhythm going again, his grip tightening marvelously around Cecil’s erection. It was so wonderful Cecil almost wanted to cry.

 

Cecil reached out, grabbing for his back, his arms, desperate. Carlos leaned closer and very gently rested his forehead against Cecil’s.

 

It was like Carlos had driven a spike straight through him, pinning him in place, bleeding pleasure and affection and love through every angle. Like a shattered mirror, higher dimensions starting to curl and stir and stretch. Cecil made a broken sound, feeling the wards sizzle, and came. He loved Carlos, he loved him, he loved him so much-

 

Carlos was kissing him, gently, sweetly, like an apology. “Shh. I know.”

 

Cecil saw him, saw him concerned and so beautiful and bright- He shivered and shut his eyes tightly. Tight. Carlos stroked his hair back.

 

“Cecil?” he sounded timid. “Was that all right?”

 

“Hmm,” Cecil said, turning his face toward Carlos’ hand. After a pause, he reached up and pulled at Carlos’ wrist a little so he could kiss the palm of his hand. It was slightly tacky from the lube, but it was worth it when he looked up and saw the smile on Carlos’ face.

 

“I’m going to...uh…” Carlos looked down at the mess, most of it on Cecil’s stomach. “Washcloth,” he explained, and scooted back off the bed, dashing quickly into the bathroom. He didn’t bother to grab the towel Cecil had left on the floor, which suggested he was probably used to leaving clothes and towels where he dropped them.

 

Cecil stretched out on his back, lazy and content, and couldn’t really make himself care. After all, the man’s bathroom was spotless.

 

Carlos came out clean but handed Cecil a warm, damp washcloth (so considerate) to wash up with. He looked a bit uneasy.

 

“The mirror blacking’s all singed,” he said. “And there’s blood on the bathroom wall?”

 

Cecil frowned at him. “Oh, dear. Maybe you are infected after all. Well, it's a good thing I added to your wards. You really can’t let that kind of thing slide, I would think a scientist would know most household accidents occur in the bathroom.”

 

Carlos stared at him for a moment. “There are Mersenne Primes in my grouting.”

 

“Oh?” Cecil had to assume that was Scientist for a ward or something. He shivered a little. “Well, whatever you want to call it, it doesn’t do anything for the temperature.” He opened his arms a little in what he hoped was an inviting way, but not so obvious he couldn’t try and pretend to be stretching if Carlos has no intention of sleeping there that night. He was just cold. People could want a bit of a cuddle for warmth.

 

_Oh please, be sleeping here tonight-_

 

Carlos let out a breath and climbed right in, as if there had never been any doubt. He reached up and pulled the covers back and they both snuggled up together underneath.  Cecil turned on his side facing Carlos, and after a moment he tucked both hands carefully underneath his chin, as if in thought. Carlos’ arm slid low around Cecil’s waist in a way he liked very much.

 

“You worried me, you know,” Carlos said after a little while. He started stroking Cecil’s back. It felt beautiful. The candles were still burning, and Cecil had a suspicion that the homey scent of slightly waxy cooking meat was going to remind him of wonderful things from now on. He was so content and relaxed he could almost hold the idea of the subway in his mind without being pulled into the memory of it.

 

“I’m fine,” Cecil said, smiling slightly. “After all, I am a broadcaster. We are made of sterner stuff.”

  
Cecil ignored the incredulous look Carlos gave him. Of course, as an outsider, he wouldn’t know. Cecil really needed to teach him a few basic things about Night Vale so he wouldn’t keep making these mistakes. He shut his eyes and pressed his face sleepily into the pillow. Carlos’ first lesson, Cecil decided, should definitely be the value and responsible use of yellow cards.

 

 


End file.
